


Just For Now

by firecracker189



Series: It’s Classified [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, God I love this trope, Partners to Lovers, i just really love the agents in love trope okay, idk how to tag something that's not really part of the series except to set up future events, technically a standalone but also part of the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 20:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16249616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firecracker189/pseuds/firecracker189
Summary: Maria and Phil end up at the same safe house. Unrequited issues are resolved. Some things happen.





	Just For Now

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to become a referenced thing in my 'It's Classified' verse because gdi i want phil to be happy and domestic and married with his boys and his wife okay. So it's going in as part of the series but it's technically a standalone. Just to clarify, this happens a while before the avengers are a team and stuff. It’s before they’re both promoted from special agent, and before Phil is a handler and stuff. So they’re younger here.

It was a remote safe house, an island fortress. A small island off the coast of Guadeloupe that SHIELD stashed agents on during away missions. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the shirt Phil Coulson wore stuck to his back with sweat as he guided the little boat towards the harbor. The other boat was gone, which meant another agent was already using the island to lay low. He hoped it was someone he was friendly with. Small talk and heated interactions were  _not_  something he was in the mood for. Not with an oozing stab wound on his left calf, a ripped up shirt, several bruises on his face and torso and a whole hoard of tiny lesions across his arms. He cut the motor and coasted to the hidden dock, ducking underneath the tree to tie the boat. Taking a deep breath of the sticky-hot air, he tried to calm his racing pulse as he splashed over the side of the boat, through the ankle deep water towards the sand. The salt water stung as it contacted the wound on his leg, and Phil nearly shouted with discomfort. He quickly breathed through his nose and regained his professional demeanor, limping down the sand and up towards the trail that led to the shack. 

"Shack" was a loose term. True, it looked unassuming from the outside, like some half in disrepair house that was kept up by only one elderly relative. But on the inside it was a moderately kept up home, with all the comforts: hot water, working kitchen, always stocked fridge...and, of course, weapons in every room. Not to mention the full on bunker dug into the basement. Biometric access denial systems were coded to each active agent, and only when they were in the region, so he was certain the list of potential house mates was low. "God, please let it be someone I don't always want to punch," Phil lamented aloud as he made his slow progress up to the top of the hill, leg causing him more than a little amount of pain. He paused to lean against a palm tree and swipe some of the sweat off his forehead, breathing deeply. The stars shone brightly above the ocean, storm clouds in the distance blotting out what was visible of the far away big island. He could have stood and taken in the sight for a while longer, but the pain he felt was demanding attention, so Phil pushed off the tree and slogged onward. "Ten minutes," he consoled himself. "Ten minutes and you can take something for the pain, suture the leg, and have a square meal." 

* * *

 

She'd seen his arrival, dark eyes staring at the security screen as it alerted her to the presence of another boat at the dock. The woman reached down and pressed a button at the console. "HQ, I have a twenty on Coulson." 

_Copy that. I'll alert his handler. Stand down. Have a rest. You deserve it, you did good today._

A sarcastic smile crossed her face as she let out a heavy breath. "Could have done better." 

_Stop beating yourself up. You can't relax for a few days until extraction gets there?_

"There's a storm coming, and I don't know whether he's got guys tailing him or not." She pointed out, every cell in her body screaming at her to interrogate the other agent, if only to ease her own paranoia. 

_Batten down the hatches. But stay put. That's an order. And be nice to him, he hasn't seen a familiar face in six months._

Another heavy sigh left her lips, stance widening. "Fine. Over and out." She mashed the button again and scowled at the monitor as she watched the other agent's progress through the multiple cameras lining the route to the house. "But I'm not letting him off easy." 

* * *

 

Phil tumbled up the steps, wiping the sweat from his palm on his pants before reaching under the window-sill and pushing a hidden button. The light fixture by the door slid down, revealing a palm reader pad and retinal scanner. He pressed a heavy hand to the screen and leaned forward, letting the red light scan over his eye before blinking and pulling back. 

_Vocal confirmation required._

He cleared his throat and took a breath. "Special Agent Phil Coulson." 

The machine beeped it's approval.  _Access granted. Welcome, Agent Coulson._

The panel slid back into place and the front door whirred open. "Finally," Phil groaned, stepping inside and letting the door close behind him. The house smelled like a mix of garlic and chicken, and his stomach growled ravenously. "Hello?" he called, wandering deeper into the house, towards the kitchen. "Is anyone here?" He entered the kitchen, gaze lingering approvingly on the pans in the sink and the bowl of chicken and veggies still steaming on the counter top. 

A subtle click broke the silence and he flinched as cold steel contacted the back of his head. "Goddamn it, Phil," he swore loudly at himself, raising his hands. "I'm an agent, I promise. I wouldn't have been able to get in otherwise." He told the unknown entity behind him. "I just need to get cleaned up and maybe eat something, I promise I'm no threat." 

"You can't prove you weren't followed." 

"What the-- Hill, is that you?" He asked, turning around with a groan as his leg started bleeding freely again. "Look, don't fuck around, I don't have time for that. Have you seen my leg? I need to get it cleaned before gangrene or septicemia sets in!" 

The other agent's face was impassive as she kept her weapon trained on his head. "Prove you weren't followed. I need hard evidence or we aren't staying." 

"Look, three of the guys are dead and one of them is seriously injured. There's security footage to back me up. I  _promise_ ," he said wearily. "Just..." he pointed past her. "Okay? Stand down. We're safe here. Storm's coming anyway. We couldn't get out if we wanted to in about an hour." 

She let out a little exasperated snarl, but carefully let the hammer down on her pistol, setting it down on a side table. "Fine." 

"Was that so hard?" he asked, brushing past her as he limped towards the main house. "This place has biometric access denial and a fuck ton of cameras, I don't know what you're so keyed up about. There's even remote trigger explosives around the perimeter," he pointed out as he shrugged out of the remains of his shirt, examining his torso in the mirror. "That's gonna hurt worse in the morning," he murmured to himself, bending over to pull the kit from under the sink. "Sutures...sutures...aha!" he could feel her hovering in the hall while he prepped the suture kit and cut away the pant leg to expose the wound. "Either be useful and go find me some clothes, or wait in the kitchen," he said, voice low with concentration as he threaded the needle and splashed some disinfectant on the wound. "Gah, fuck fuck fuck," he chorused as the stinging flared back up. Phil grabbed a gauze pad and wiped the blood off his leg so he could see the wound properly. Twisting, he put the small flashlight in his mouth and turned it on, bending back over the leg he'd propped up on the toilet. Six minutes later, a perfect row of stitches marked his leg from the bottom of his calf to his knee. Nodding in satisfaction, he spit the flashlight back into the first aid box and turned. 

Hill was hovering in the doorway, a set of SHIELD issue clothes in her hands. "Here. I found some that should fit you in the closet. Clean up and then you can eat." She disappeared without another word. 

"Could be a little nicer," he grumbled as he closed the door and started up the small shower, placing the clothes on the top of the first aid kit. "Not like that time we spent together...well, those times we spent together in the Academy....you'd think they'd mean something," he mused to himself as he stripped and stepped under the warm spray. He showered as quickly as possible--with the approaching storm, he didn't want to risk being electrocuted by lightning while he was in the shower. Not his preferred way of death. 

* * *

 

Freshly showered and sure to be careful of his leg, Coulson appeared in the kitchen a few minutes later, wearing the black tee and shorts with the SHIELD logo on them. Hill was sitting on the counter, cross legged, eating chicken with chopsticks and looking slightly concerned. 

"What's on your mind?" Phil asked as he prepared himself a bowl of chicken. 

She shrugged. "Guess I ought to apologize for earlier. But I'm not sorry." Her hair was loose around her shoulders, tank top she wore showing off bruises that littered her biceps and forearms as she ate.

Phil reminded himself he was a gentleman, and that he shouldn't look at the way the garment seemed to guide his eyes towards the swell of her breasts. He figured he also shouldn't remind himself of the last time they'd slept together, and the fact that he knew what her skin felt like, and how she came completely apart under his hands. "Don't be. Can't ever let your guard down. I know what it's like." Phil heaped chicken onto his plate and leaned against the counter top, using a fork instead of chopsticks to sate his appetite quicker. 

The two didn't speak again, avoiding each other as they prepared the house to weather the tropical storm. He worked on the windows while she worked engaging storm security protocols in the tech room. Once the storm finally hit, it was well into the night. Phil limped into the bedroom, planting his lantern on the dresser. Maria was sitting cross legged in the middle of the bed, sharpening a knife. He cleared his throat and she looked up. 

"Hey." he pushed the door closed to block some of the sound out as the rain began pattering on the roof, nearly as loud as the thunder itself. 

Maria sheathed her knife and set it on the bedside table. "Want a drink?" She asked, bending and withdrawing a bottle from underneath the bed. The whiskey gleamed a bright amber as the light shined through the bottle and despite himself, Phil felt a little thirsty. 

"I uh, sure." he waited a moment, unsure what to do until she uncorked it and took a swig herself, holding it out to him. "Thanks." he murmured, taking the bottle and sitting down, perching on the edge of the mattress as he took a generous drink. 

A clap of thunder sounded and the overhead lights cut out, leaving the two agents in darkness save for the lanterns they'd brought in when they finished prepping for the storm. "Don't think getting me drunk is going to tamp down this weird vibe you're giving off." He warned her, passing the bottle back. 

Maria took a long drink before bringing the bottle down, glancing over at him with a look that, if he didn't know better, almost communicated a bit of shyness. He pointed at the bottle with a questioning slant to his brows and she gave it back to him. "Look," she began softly, hair hanging down in her face as thunder rumbled outside. The dim lighting reflected off her hair, making it gleam, highlighting the curve of her shoulder as she shifted. "I... I'm not really good at this kind of thing. I haven't really had a lot of relationships. I'm more of a 'casual fling' type of girl, that's all. I thought it was mutual when we..." she looked up at him again. "when things broke off. I thought that's what you wanted." 

"So you're telling me you've never thought about me again since our last night together?" he took a deep swig and thrust the bottle in her direction. 

"No! That's not..." she gave a frustrated sigh, lowering the bottle so it was cradled in her lap, liquid sloshing against the sides of the container. Phil's brows rose again and she huffed, raising the bottle to her lips. Liquid courage. "I have. Thought about you, I mean. I just...It's near impossible for someone like us to keep anything up that isn't casual, y'know?" 

He pulled the bottle out of her hands and took another drink, enjoying the way the world seemed to go fuzzy at the edges as the alcohol kicked in, everything that wasn't her fading to a part of his brain that handled unimportant things. "Do you want to? Have something...more than that, I mean." 

Maria looked up at him and shrugged. "I'm not sure I could." she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to block out the fact that she was stranded at a safe house with someone she'd once genuinely had feelings for, actually  _talking_ about those feelings. "The simple fact of the matter is that people die in this line of work. If I ever found someone...there's a great chance that either myself or that person could die as a result of what I do for a living. And I'm not sure I'm really ready to do that to someone. I already abandon my cat, imagine if it were a person. At least if someone gets pissed at me they're not likely to kill Snowy for it." 

"Snowy?" he asked, a slightly drunken smile crossing his lips. 

Maria flushed and took the bottle away from him. "Snowball. But I call him Snowy. Because he's white and pure like snow on the mountains." Maybe the alcohol was making her a little bit loose tongued. "But that's not the point," she forged ahead, pointing at him for emphasis. "Point is, you wanna know how I feel. Well brace yourself. Because here goes. I got some questions. And maybe I got some answers, I dunno," she took another sip and idly wondered how they'd managed to deplete most of a bottle so quickly. "First off, I wanna know whether you actually cared about me. Was I just a fling to you? Cause...I don't think you were for me. You might be the first person I've ever loved," Phil made to speak but she flung up a slightly uncoordinated hand and turned more fully toward him. "And you wanna know the sad part? I can't even say that without getting slightly drunk. Because I'm so emotionally constipated I can't let people know I care about them. Well, I'm letting you know that now, while we're trapped here and you can't get away from me." Maria giggled a little, not noticing as Phil gently tugged the whiskey out of her hands. 

"Okay, alright. I think we've had too much of the happy juice for now," he said, proud he only slurred slightly as he set the bottle on the floor. Phil turned to face her, bringing his own legs up onto the bed as well. They were both a little drunk. Might as well own up to his feelings if she did. After all, it'd be rude not to, right? "When you said you had feelings for me...do you still have feelings for me?" he asked, speaking louder over the sound of the increasing rain lashing at the windows. In the darkness it was hard to read her face, with just the light of the two lanterns in either corner of the room. 

She was silent for a moment, staring at her hands as she fiddled with them, the wind howling. "Yes," she whispered eventually, casting her eyes up to search his face. "And you?" she suddenly wanted to know, wanted to appease her nineteen year old self who'd managed to sleep with the most gorgeous twenty-four year old she'd ever seen. Some part of her was still sentimental and romantic no matter how hard she tried to pretend she was the hard-edged agent all the time. 

Phil was going to come up with some kind of explanation, but when he looked down the light was casting just right over her lips, making a soft shadow along her cheekbones and all he wanted to do was touch her face. "Yes," he whispered back, remembering what felt like such a short time ago when he'd last felt her skin under his hands. They'd been so much less calloused and scarred then. Slowly, he raised his hand up and cupped her cheek, stroking his thumb along her cheekbone tentatively. "I did. I do," he corrected himself, as she leaned into his hand, perhaps unknowingly. 

Maria didn't speak, basking in that touch for a moment before she moved to sit on her feet, pushing his arm out of the way as she raised her arms above her head and stripped off her tank in one smooth motion. "Prove it," she begged. Something in the back of her mind thought this might be a bad idea, but very soon Phil had leaned in and his lips were on hers and she didn't want to think about anything else except how happy she was. He leaned forward and she leaned back, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him closer. He settled between her legs, his body running the length of the bed as he leaned against her and kissed her, tentative and exploratory and everything about him that she'd missed. His hand settled in her hair and she gave a soft moan of appreciation. 

Suddenly things were just like she remembered, the feel of his skin was just the same (minus a few scars and bumps here and there, and his hands were far more calloused now), his lips tasted just the same as they had ten years earlier... but this time, instead of frantic and passionate, things were gentle, nostalgic, almost reverent as he traced the curves of her body. Lightning lit up the room every few minutes as his lips explored her entire body, the storm outside cooling off the normally stifling temperatures to a pleasant scale as she tilted her head back and said his name like a prayer to some ancient god. At some point she found herself asking whether or not his leg would be okay, but instead of an answer she got a noncommittal grunt and his hands sliding down her hips in a way that immediately had her thinking of other things. 

* * *

 

By the time the storm's rage had abated to just rain and slight winds, the two agents were a tangle of limbs, her laying atop his chest with her face pressed into his neck, like she could hide in her safe haven forever as he traced gentle patterns on her back. A stolen few hours of bliss, and then what? Maria didn't want to think about it. She was terrified things would repeat themselves. That soon she'd be left alone again and he'd go off to somewhere she wasn't allowed to know where and...both of them might die without having seen each other again. A nudge to her shoulder blades brought her out of her reverie, and she looked up with a little questioning hum. 

"You're thinking too loud," Phil's voice was husky and warm and it made her tingle from head to foot. She nuzzled at his shoulder softly. 

"Sorry." Maria murmured. 

"I'm right here. Right now. We can cross any other bridge when we come to it. But for right now, just enjoy this. Enjoy being together while it lasts." he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, rubbing his hand up and down her side softly. "We'll be alright," he insisted. 

"Promise," she begged, pressing her face to his neck and curling into him, afraid he'd vanish just like some fairy tale prince. 

"I promise. Maria, I promise you, now that I know you feel the same way, I'm not going to let us make the same mistakes." 

The fervor in his response convinced her that he was telling the truth, and she let herself relax as he continued to rub her back slowly, softly. The gentleness was surprising to her, given the fact she knew he could kill someone with those hands. But she liked it. She decided she liked having someone be able to peel back all her layers and know exactly what she was going through. She just liked him in general. She decided that when the extraction team came, the two of them were leaving together. Maybe they could go back home...have dinner....

Maria dreamed about the two of them sitting on the couch in her apartment, Snowball purring between them, just...chatting. Watching movies. Throwing popcorn at each other. Whatever it was that real couples did. It was nice. 

That night, Phil decided he'd found a use for the ring he'd kept since he was a teenager. He looked up at the ceiling, illuminated by the two lanterns, and thought of how Maria Hill would look on their wedding day, and felt the happiest he thought he'd ever felt. It would take time, and effort, but someday, somehow... he was going to marry her. 

 


End file.
